


Not Your Hero

by xLonelyDreamerx



Series: Live with it [1]
Category: Jessica Jones (TV)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe, Dark!Jessica, Depression, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Kidnapping, Kilgrave Is Kilgrave, Manipulation, Mind Control, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Hatred, Serial Killer Couple, Sleeping around, Suicide Attempt, This shit will get dark!, Torture, Twisted love, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, brain washing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-01
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-09-27 17:21:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10036007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xLonelyDreamerx/pseuds/xLonelyDreamerx
Summary: The funny thing about hope is that it goes as quickly as it comes.Because the world could burn for all he cared but his Jessica wouldn’t be getting away from him this time.





	1. Hope

**Author's Note:**

> After watching Jessica Jones, I decided to try and write a story. Please do read the taggs because it might not be the type of story you like. Also, be aware that English is not my first language and I’m dyslexic so mistakes are bound to be made. 
> 
> The first thing that came to my mind after the first episode was: "What if Jessica hadn’t told the taxi driver that she had to make a stop?"
> 
> And that’s how this was born. Also, just because I ship Jessica with Kilgrave doesn't mean I actually support abuse or rape in real life. So if you don't like the pairing, click another story.

 

 __ **Escape  
** (v)  
_/e'skeip/_  
_To flee and avoid; to be saved or exempt from; to shun; to obtain security from;_  
_to escape danger_

 

When Jessica entered the lingerie store, she knew there was something off; according to Hope's parents, the girl was frugal and the pictures she had seen hadn't shown a girl who was prone to fancy lingerie.

It seemed out of character and that confirmed her suspicion that Hope was overboard to make her boyfriend happy. She was either an idiot in love or she was being prone. Or maybe both.

Jessica looked at the manikins with their lacy garments; it was the sort of thing she would never wear, preferring her black leather jacket and torn jeans.

_"Atrocious sense of fashion, but can be remedied"_

Birch Street, Higgins Drive

Jessica hated cases like these. She got them once in a while and they hit a little too close home; she would choose the cheating husbands and wives over missing children with no second thoughts. In her mind, she was already making a room in her budget for the extra booze she would doubtlessly be drinking tonight.

She continued along her trail. The next stop was a place called Niku, on Elizabeth Street. Maybe she had finally found a prop-

No

No way

She remembered the familiar street, the decoration of the restaurant outside, the little flowers outside the front door…

It was the same place – the exact same place – Al Rosso

She felt like she was back on the street, the woman lying dead on the ground, the blood on her shaking hands. _so cold_ His voice ringing loud and clear

" _Jessica!"_

She took a step forward but she remained there, still on the street, the woman continued being dead and he was still shouting

" _Come back here!"_

Although she had never been afraid of the water, it felt like someone was pushing her head underwater, and she was looking for supplies of air she would never find.

She couldn't allow herself to think something that couldn't be true; because once someone was dead he remained dead.

 _He's dead, he's not coming back_ The words in her head were spoken in Trish's calm voice; the same logical, sane voice that had the habit of breaking her out of her paranoia.

It wasn't the first time she'd had flashbacks of Kilgrave. Due to her goddamned PTSD, she had tendencies to overreact to every little thing that could remind her of him. Like the time she thought she had seen his purple suit, or when she had almost killed someone whose British accent had sounded a little too much like Kilgrave's.

The fact that Hope had gone to the particular street and to the exact restaurant was just bad luck – God knows she's had more than her share of that – and besides, it wasn't even Italian anymore.

Kilgrave preferred Italian over French food and hated Chinese

Jessica snapped out of whatever trace she had fallen into and mastered the courage to walk in.

A job was a job and she wouldn't allow her PTSD to hold her back

As she walked deeper she finally found the maitre and started question him, trying to ignore the twinge of dread that she had been feeling.

"They came here last Tuesday."

One month exactly since Hope disappeared -no, it wasn't, it couldn't be, she was overreacting. It was bad luck, coincidence

"Her companion wanted a particular table at the back, and there was a couple already sitting there and I... I lost my mind or something, and made the couple leave."

She wanted the earth to open up and swallow her, run away and just forget everything about Hope and her parents, because she knew she was opening Pandora's Box.

However, she kept him talking and she kept listening because she was a P.I and P.Is kept on asking and listening, and they continued they goddamned jobs even when-

"I don't know what had happened, it was like I suddenly _needed_ nothing more than to kick the couple out of the restaurant and ju-just give the table to the girl and her companion."

The maitre was still talking about Hope's companion(whose identity she had figured out by now. It wasn't coincidence or bad luck; it was him, him back from the dead) how he had gotten them to give food and wine for free.

She still remembered exactly what type of wine he liked (Rossese Bianco) - she remembered everything; his favorite music, his favorite food, even his favorite goddamned tie.

She knew the table at the back, with a window view; they had sat there because she wanted something private and quiet - somewhere where it would just be him and her (he had seemed to like that a lot). The black, expensive, elegant dress he had 'bought' for her only the night before, smooth against her skin. And sitting across the table him, Kilgrave.

Their anniversary

"He ordered classic Italian pasta-"

"Amatriciana" she finished the sentence in a half choked whisper, because didn't she know it so well, the Pasta Amatriciana, his favorite dish...

He was back

Reality hit her like icy water and she trembled

Real, alive and with all his glory, he was back

The horror, the longing, and the anxiety that had been chocking her ever so slowly with every passing day since the crash tightened with full force around her neck like an invisible hand that was trying to kill her. Her instincts screamed at her to run, run away from him, run while she still could, run before he found her again, before he trapped her like a fly caught in honey.

And she did, obeying her instincts, Jessica Jones ran as far and as fast as she could, because she could still do it, could still run, and if she run far enough, he would never find her.

Or she could hope so

 

* * *

 

It made sense why he had sent the Shlottmans to her. He was taunting her; he wanted her to know that he was alive, that he was coming for her. He probably wanted her to find him, so she had to run. She couldn't play his sick little game; she had met enough assholes that could match Kilgrave and she was too damaged to pretend and play the hero for Trish and Hope.

By using Hope's money she could run as far away as humanly possible, Hope wouldn't need the money anyway.

She could go to China. Kilgrave hated anything that had to do with the Chinese.

Hope's credit card didn't work - God was probably laughing at her misery, but she wasn't panicking yet. One plan down the drain, but that was alright; there were other ways to get money.

Alright, so she couldn't get paid early, okay that was the perfect moment to panic. She needed the money, she needed it like Malcom needed his drugs: fast and desperately because without it  she wouldn't be able to escape, she couldn't escape.

She went to Trish who she hadn't seen since leaving without a word half a year ago. Trish would certainly demand an explanation, a reason, excuses. Things that Jessica didn't want to give, but desperate time called for desperate measures.

"I need money." She winced at how callous she sounded but she didn't have time to be gentle, even though Trish deserved better.

"You saw him die. You saw his death  certificate. This is just your PTSD. Are you still having nightmares?"

Jessica felt like screaming. Didn't Trish know that she would never have come to her if she hadn't been absolutely certain, absolutely so scared and desperate?

Trish had no idea what it meant that he was back. She didn't know what it was like to belong to Kilgrave, which was why she still thought that Jessica could be a hero. But Jessica knew what it was like, which was why she was running, and praying he would never find her.

It always made her angry when Trish pretended to know what she had been through; she didn't. Trish had a beautiful apartment, a successful career and creepy fans who adored her. She didn't know the dark side of the hero fantasies she was having.

"You're still the same person who tried to do something."

She wasn't the same person who had left Kilgrave on the streets after the crash; the person she had become was different, darker. There was a reason why she preferred to stick with family drama in her cases and nothing more serious.

"Tried and failed. That's what started this."

Jessica could have never pictured herself as a hero but when Trish became obsessed with the idea, she had planted the seed inside her mind and she grew accustomed to the idea of doing something unusual, of making a difference.

But heroes didn't stand out, they didn't make any difference. Jessica discovered it in the hard way. Her hands were painted red with blood and things would never go back to the way they were.

"I was never the hero you wanted me to be."

 

* * *

The old Jessica – not the one before Kilgrave – but the one who had been staying with Trish six months ago, would have probably asked the taxi driver to make a stop, she would have gone to the hotel where Hope was held (because of course he had taken her to the same hotel they had stayed before the crash), and she would have taken her to her office where her parents would be waiting.

And just like that, Hope Shlottman and her family would get their happy ending as they would drive away with their poor,broken daughter.

" _Where is our daughter?"_

Jessica wasn't going to help them, which was why her mind decided to show her over and over again the desperate faces of Hope's parents.

" _Please just tell me where my baby is!"_

Taking her phone out of her jean pocket, Jessica texted to Mrs. Shlottman because she had a feeling she would act quicker that her husband who would spend half his time trying to reach her.

 

_Make a stop uptown. 59th and Fifth. There's a hotel, on the first floor at the last door at the end of the hall. Your daughter is there, you have to get her as far away as you can. Check out of your hotel, take Hope and leave immediately._

– _Jessica_

 

Immediately and no surprisingly, her phone started ringing and Jessica debated how much her guilt would torture her if she pressed ignore.

"Just do it!" she shouted angrily after she accepted the call. It was the only help they would get from her so they might as well act fast.

Not bothering any longer, Jessica threw her phone out of the window and ignored the shocked look of the taxi driver. He wasn't paid to ask questions

"How long till we arrive at the airport?"

She could no longer help Hope and her family, Jessica had done her part and although she would never make peace with herself, she was willing to let Hope Shlottman's fate haunt her fragile mind for the rest of her life. It was a price she was willing to pay if it meant escaping Kilgrave.

"Ten minutes."

She would force herself to remain unapologetically, discounting the existence of anyone.

She had a plane to catch

* * *

 

It wasn't when she arrived at the airport but when she was actually holding the ticket: that was when realization truly hit her.

She was going out of the city, somewhere far and safe.

The panic decreased and her mind was filled with hope.

Escape wasn't impossible after all.

New York was full of people, no matter which corner you turned someone would be there. If she stayed, the paranoia would get worse, she would be forced to play a game of cat and mouse in which she wanted no part of.

"Do you need me to bring you anything?" A young fly attendant asked her politely and left after she turned the offer down.

The plane started moving and she looked outside the window; the fall evening was darkening into night.

Two flight attendants were stating the safety announcements to a concerned passenger as the plane began moving faster before it lifted off the ground and started flying.

Jessica looked down at the entire airport and for the first time after a long year she genuinely smiled.

What she didn't know was that the funny thing about hope was that it goes as quickly as it comes.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you don't like dark stuff then you should stop right here where Jessica has successfully gotten away and heads towards her happily ever after.  
> Drop a review and tell me your thoughts


	2. Anticipation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friendly Warning: At the beginning of this chapter, there'll be a tiny flashback of Kilgrave/Jessica but it'll be from his point of view so new tag: Unreliable Narrator  
> Also, sorry for not replying faster to the people who commented the previous chapter but I'm still new at the site and I've yet to learn it
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy this chapter

~~~~_Kilgrave was humming a low, random tune as he raised the knife again to quarter the fruit that presented its tender underbelly to its carver._

_He would have the room service cut the fruits he had ordered, but the young man had stared at Jessica for far too long so he commanded him to go home and rip out his eyes as slowly and as painful as he possible could._

_However, as Kilgrave brought down the knife, he found himself distracted by a sudden addition to the room, Jessica, wrapped in stiff, white, cotton, towel that outlined her delicate form and contrasted beautifully with her sensuous dark hair that dripped down her back like cascading candle wax. As his eyes traced the line of her body, the blade traced the line of the apple along its designated course, not distinguishing between flesh and fruit when it contacted the skin on the pad of his thumb._

_Excised jerkily from his brief moment of silent reverie, Kilgrave swore in a hiss under his breath, yanking his hand away and shaking it rapidly, as if he expected to shake off a knife wound. His unlikely potential cure failed, and he took instead to biting it firmly, sucking off the blood that dripped from the thin slice in his pink thumb._

_“Damn it!” He repeated, muffled by the finger in his mouth that made it sound rather less threatening than it might have been._

_“What did you do?” Asked Jessica curiously, lazily walking past the counter_

_She pulled his hand toward her, rolling her eyes at his dramatic antics. She splayed out her fingers, soft against the leathery skin of Kilgrave’s palm, tracing the line of his thumb, pressing the odd heat of fingertips against the back of his hand, and examined the cut._

_“How the hell did you nick yourself like that?”_

_She asked, not expecting an answer as she turned to open a cabinet and reach for gauze, casting a glance inside a drawer to retrieve a bottle of iodine._

_Jessica took his hand again in her own stroking his palm as if intentionally, and cleaning the cut with a gentle, sweeping pressure, as he inhaled sharply from the sting of it._

_Kilgrave stared at her intensely, surprised and half-shocked at the sudden display of gentleness. He tried to catch her eyes. But she was purposing ignoring his gaze._

_He shook his head, as if it was unimportant. “I was distracted, I suppose,” he replied smoothly, stretching out his fingers as Jessica wrapped a piece of gauze gingerly around the tip of his thumb, taking care not to let it catch on the damaged thumbnail as winds it tightly around the flesh._

_He opened his mouth, to tell her it was pointless to be satisfied with her work, that she had just wasted her time because she wasn’t the only one who could heal faster than normal._

_However, as soon as he saw Jessica’s small and rare smile the desire to taunt her cased. He wanted to enjoy the sudden moment of intimacy between them because her touch was so warm and her smile so kind and beautiful and **willing**._

_He stretched out his temporarily sore thumb and balled his hand into a fist, giving her a smile when he noticed that she had yet to pull away._

_At that moment he realized that she had gotten under his skin once again. Her touch so warm and welcoming that made his want to keep smiling at her, even when he was bleeding._

 

* * *

 

He felt amazing when he stepped into the hotel room and watched the light die from her eyes, which was exactly what had happened when he creaked the door open to the room he got, glancing around.

“We’re doing fine, aren’t we Hope?” He mused quietly, cocking his head to the side as he glanced over her. Slowly, he reached out to stroke her cheek, his ling finger brushing her cold skin.

“Yes, we do.” Her answer made him frown; her tone was monotones and was lacking the feeling.

“I ran into your parents today, nice folks.” He began casually, enjoying the way her eyes widened in fear.

He had her attention

Good

He went over to sit on the bed. “They’re very worried about you, you know.” She remained silent, merely staring at him quietly, which secretly disappointed him greatly because if Jessica was here she would have dropped a word from her colorful vocabulary.

God, how he _missed_ her

He had counted himself lucky to have stumbled upon such an alluring creature, both in her physical prowess and, yes, even her foolish morality. It was utterly fascinating to discover that he wasn't as unique as he thought himself to be. And while superhuman strength was interesting enough, it still wasn’t really something to balk at.

Her powers (which weren’t really as great and brilliant as his) had definitely caught his attention, but it was the power of her mind that made him realize just how much he truly wanted her.

She wasn’t like the others. She fought, more strongly than anyone else, to disobey him. Although infuriating in those small moments of defiance (perhaps a brief pause, a dissenting word, the slightest of hesitations in carrying out his commands), he had catch himself quietly admiring her strength of mind, marveling at how she kept him on his toes, and cherishing the beauty of watching her submit, after realizing the futility of refusing his love.

But she _had_ to ruin everything, didn’t she?

“Don’t worry; they’re alive, for now at least. Well, until I get bored that is.” He stood up sharply, pacing around the room, stroking his chin as he thought of what he wanted to do to her today.

 _Or do with her_ , he figured

Sex with her wasn’t really good. She lacked the passion that Jessica possessed. Hope just laid there and waited until it was over (as if she didn’t enjoy it! He scoffed at that, of course she did. She wasn’t a victim, she liked being with him), his Jessica occasionally tried to punish him through sex (digging her nails into his back hard enough to make him bleed, tagging his hair so hard that he was surprised he still had hair, biting his shoulder, leaving her marks – something which he copied from her once he found how exhilarating it was)

He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts since his body started reacting at his naught thoughts. Maybe later he would ask for a blowjob – it was the least she could do to thank him for being generous enough to not kill her parents. As for now, he had an idea…

“How about we jump?” He turned to face her. “That sounds like fun, doesn’t it? Let’s see how high you can jump.” He bounced a bit, clapping his hands together as if he was summoning a servant.

Kilgrave watched as Hope climbed out of the bed (too slowly for his taste but he could forgive her – he was in a good mood). He tracked her movements as she started jumping. “Higher!” He barked out

_Surely, she could do better._

“Come on, you can jump higher than that!” He taunted, walking closer to her.

The muffled thumps of her feet hitting the floor echoed through the quiet hotel room.

_She should_

“Higheer” He drugged out the word as if he singing it. “Come on, don’t be lazy!”

He let out a sigh of disapproval. He knew she would never be as good as Jessica.

“You’ll never be as good as her” He murmured casually, watching her for a moment before he turned away without telling her to stop.

He had accepted that he would always compare everyone to Jessica simply because no one would ever be as good as Jessica. But if he closed his eyes and listened only to the muffled thumps of Hope’s feet hitting the floor, maybe he could fool himself into thinking he was in the hotel room with Jessica. Even for few minutes.

* * *

 

When he left the hotel two days later, Kilgrave felt almost giddy from the excitement. It had started; the photos of Jessica burnt hot in his hands. He wanted to laugh, to celebrate!

(Oh, he would celebrate once he would hear on the news about the missing girl who went mad and killed her parents inside the building of the private investigator they had hired to find their lost daughter)

He hadn’t actually planned to have Hope killed her parents as soon as they were safely together, but the blonde had made the mistake of talking back to him when he mercifully gave her the chance to _convince_ him to let her parents live.

Bringing up Jessica to him was her mistake – and was going to be her parents’ downfall

Kilgrave decided that he preferred Hope’s obedience through and through

So yes, he couldn’t wait to hear about the _missing girl – gone mad_ , he just wished he could be there to witness Jessica’s face; to see her reaction

He had always loved a good drama; it was the reason he watched television, after all.

Unfortunately, he had to depart from the hotel at least five hours prior (better safe than sorry) before Jessica came; she was smart and quick with a mind sharper than knife, he couldn’t take risks.

His little _escape_ wasn’t really hard; he ordered a man to drive him to the closest five star hotel (Jessica wouldn’t be checking for hotels nearby, surely, her hands would be too busy for that), and once the moon came up, he ordered pasta amatriciana with Rossese Bianco, because tonight was the night for the celebration. He had to have the best of everything. All he had to do now was to wait for the news, and that’s what he did.

He waited

Freshly shaved, dressed in new clothes, and with a glass of Rossese Bianco, he waited alone inside the quiet hotel room (he didn’t bring any company, maybe he would do that later)

He waited approximately three hours and forty five minutes

The brand new suit he was wearing suddenly felt too tight, the food was cold, and the wine wasn’t as tasty as it was before.

And the worst part?

There was no news

Kilgrave sighed impatiently; the small table with his food abounded behind him, with his hands behind his back, a frowned shadowing his face; he paced around the room like an animal that wanted to escape.

Why the hell was it taking so bloody long?

Jessica wouldn’t be able to hide the fiasco; she would be too busy being interrogated by some policeman. So what had happened?

A low groaned echoed to the quiet room. “What have you done now?”

He knew Hope was worse than useless but what could she have possibly done to ruin such a brilliant, perfectly made plan?

His musing was answered with silence, and a renewed wave of anger burned through his chest.

His brain moved restlessly in search of answers to the new problems which confronted him, but he couldn’t figure it out.

He had waited

He had bloody waited for months!

First to recover from the impact the crush had on him, then to have Jessica's photos; because he had planned to let her know that he had been watching her for the past four months, and then the case he created for Jessica alone to solve-

For someone who wasn’t naturally patient, he had reached a breaking point!

After so much planning, so much waiting, he wouldn’t be rewarded?!

How stupid were the Shlottmans, really? (He was now certain they had done something to change his plans. Maybe they had given Jessica wrong clues and now she was hunting the wrong guy – kind of doubtless because Jessica wasn’t an idiot – but he was certain it was their fault and they would pay for it!)

The plan had been simply brilliant; he would give her signs to taunt her (because surely, what was the point if she didn’t know he was alive? That he was coming for her?) She would be angry (oh and what a beauty she was in her anger) and she would try to find him – start haunting him. He had clapped his hands together at the thought back then because they would have so much fun together!

He snapped out of his memories and came back to reality. The anger burnt in a sickening fashion inside his head and chest. And before he could even realize what he had done, he tore off his purple tie and let out a shout of frustration

_If you want something done right, do it yourself_

Grabbing his coat, he typed a number as he exited the room; leaving everything else untouched.

He had a junkie to interrogate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be honest, I wasn't completely satisfied with how this chapter turned out. I feel like I didn't write Kilgrave's anger very well, and his point of view is generally hard to write. What do you think?
> 
> Please drop a review to tell me, I think my insecurities are catching up with me


	3. Traps

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, guys! I've missed you! Excuse my typos, but exept from the fact that English is not my mother tongue and I have dyslexia, these past few weeks I've been taking exams so whatever little free time I had, I wrote small pieces and eventually got them together.
> 
> Few things before you read:  
> 1) A scene at the previous chapter looked very much alike with a scene from another story. But after talking with the author about this oddity. She said a mention of the story would be enough to not confuse people. So the name of her story is called "We Shine Together" and it's writter by Detective_Animator. We're not the same person (but I wish I had half of her talent when it comes to writing)
> 
> 2) A fan made a channel on Youtube and she posts regularly fanmade videos of Jessica Jones so you should definitely check her out (she even made a trailer for this story, how awesome is that?!). The channel's names is: "It's Called Whiskey"
> 
> 3) I was having some Bates Motel vibes when I started this chapter and they took over me... You'll realize what I mean after you read
> 
> 4) I'm very excited for something; since I changed a lot of things about Jessica's backround in this story (you just haven't seen it yet) I thought of writing more details about Jessica's life before the accident and the idea turned into a story which is called "A Spider's Web". It's a prequel of "Not Your Hero" but of course you don't need to read it if you don't ship Jessica/Peter or care about how Trish and Jess came to be

When Jessica was six she was asked by a teacher from school what she wanted to be when she grew up.

Her answer was: astronaut

Her parents blamed her obsession with Doctor Who – and they were partly right. (Because really, who could say no at seeing the starts? Jessica used to imagine countless hours at night how it would feel like to travel from planet to planet, to touch the stars and get lost with them in the galaxy – _she had been such a dreamer back then, until…_ ) One day she watched a documenter about space and the routine of astronauts and their travels and Jessica discovered that astronauts weren’t free in the universe like she had originally thought. They were locked in small spaces for years; their job was to collect stupid rocks, and nobody could actually touch the starts. Jessica was disappointed.

When she was nine she was asked again by her then best friend; Hannah

Her answer was: writer

She had been quite the bookworm, she loved reading books (she still does)and writing essays; in her eyes books gave the chance to travel in a different place, time, era, universe… From romance to adventure and eventually to mystery and crime novels (The latter is the type Jessica still likes), books were certainly a way to fill in a lazy day.

The dream lasted for many years. It wasn’t until the accident happened that she truly realized some dreams died; humans kept wishing for more when they already had everything, and Jessica had to lose her entire family to realize that.

She had never been good at planning; Jessica just _did_ , she _reacted_ , she _took action_. However, eyeing the room she had stayed the past few days Jessica had never felt more disappointed to herself until now.

Jessica was a runner; if she got cornered and trapped she would do anything to escape. It should be a given, a fact of life. Anyone who knew her knew she drunk to escape her problems, but sometimes, even a bottle of Jack Daniels wasn’t enough.

So she ran, ran away from the devil himself, away from her problems and responsibilities, away from Trish, and away from New York. (She had thought long and hard about moving to another country but didn’t it sound too predictable? Perhaps Kilgrave would expect it from her. Or maybe he wouldn’t. She couldn’t make any wrong moves)

She didn’t even realize how many days passed, she couldn’t focus. She could only take a flight, stay in a place for three days the most, and then leave again. From New York to California, and from California to Florida, she eventually got settled in a coastal town in Oregon.

Jessica preferred cities; they were big, crowed, and you could easily blend in unlike small towns where the residents were closed and wanted to know each other’s businesses since they had nothing better to do than gossip about other people’s lives.

One thing was certain; Jessica wouldn’t be able to ever imagine herself live in such a place (and if she couldn’t, perhaps Kilgrave wouldn’t be able to do either)

She couldn’t help but think Trish would probably love the place; small towns, warm people, clear sky, with the sea on the one side and the forest on the other. It reminded her of those shitty romantic movies Trish likes to watch-

No, she couldn’t think like that. _It’s also for Trish’s own good_ , she reminded herself as she tied loosely a long scarf around her neck. Trish was everything; her last hope, her friend, her sister and family (she would never admit it to her but it was a plain fact)

Jessica shook her head, feeling sick and fighting the urge to choke herself with the goddamn scarf because none of what she was doing is her.  Jessica didn’t wear skirts, heels, and short shorts with sleeveless blouses and tank tops. She certainly didn’t wear jewelries and make up anymore.

The bile in her throat vanished at the notification sound which came from her new phone to remind her she had to go, and along with it, her unease and self-hatred that only she feels. Jessica does what she does best.

She lies, and lies, and lies

(she’s always been terrified of the truth)

She stepped outside and doused out into the rain (it was raining heavily and it was ruining the perfect image she was trying to hold but she put up with it) she climbed the stairs that were leading up to the hill where the house was located and was ready to ring the bell when she noticed there was a light on in one of the upstairs rooms. A woman passed the window, paused, and peered out. But before she could become suspicious she remembered the motel manager mentioning living with his mother.

The presumed mother quickly went away from the window and having seen the woman, Jessica expected to get some attention. Instead, she stood for a few moments, waiting.

When no one came, impatience and anger rose in her, she rang the bell repeatedly only to find that it wasn’t working properly. Backing away from the house, she repeated to herself that it wouldn’t be normal for her to break the damn door.

She wasn’t Jessica Jones; a messed up private investigator with a little drinking problem and with an _atrocious sense of fashion_.

She was Hanna Parker; a mysterious, stylish woman who had come in this shitty town to escape her busy life.

 It wasn’t as if she was starving (she often forgot to eat anyway) but she preferred to eat lunch with a desperately lonely motel manager than to be interrogated by the town’s gossipers.

After a moment, a young man (the motel manager) opened the front door of the house. He paused, started down the path but after a few steps, he turned and run back into the house.

Enough was enough

She turned around to go back to her room and do what she did mostly these days; plan the next place to go. However, a small “ _Hey!_ ” made her turn around.

The manager had gone back only to get an umbrella. Seeing that Jessica stopped and he caught up quickly, the umbrella unopened in his hand.

He stopped short, looked at her, then at the umbrella hanging uselessly in his hand, then back to her.

There was something sadly touching in his manner, in his look, and Jessica’s impatience left as her lips turned upwards (it wasn’t a smile, she didn’t do that anymore but it was the closest thing he would get from her) and this made him almost smile. He gestured her into the house, and after following behind him she took off her jacket.

It was Victorian style from what she was seeing and awfully dusty for a guy who was living with his mother.

_Stop being a P.I for a moment, Jones_

He excused himself for a moment and instructed her to wait for him in the living room. Settling herself at the sofa, she took her time to study the room. It was quite messy, as if a fight had occurred, old fashioned heels were abounded near the wooden table and her brow furrowed as she noticed there was not a single picture of the manager or anyone else whatsoever.

_“No! I tell you no!”_

She heard a feminine scream from upstairs and tensed, ready to take action.

 _“I won't have you bringing strange young girls in for supper...”_ There was an ugly, sneering note creeps into the voice _“...by candlelight, I suppose, in the cheap erotic fashion of young men with cheap, erotic minds!”_

Jessica finally heard the manager’s voice pleading, _“Mother, please...”_

_“And then what? After supper, music? Whispers?”_

“Sounds like a modern woman,” Jessica mused quietly. God, she was almost aching for a drink right now. Had she would give to have a bottle of whisky.

_“Mother, she's just a costume... She’s been staying with us. She’s hungry, and the weather's bad...”_

_“Mother, she's just a costumer!”_ The woman mimicked cruelly and Jessica started conserving whether being interrogated by the town’s folks wasn’t so bad after all. _“As if men don't desire a little mystery, as if... oh, I refuse to speak of disgusting things because they disgust me! You understand, Boy?”_

_“Go on, go tell her she'll not be appeasing her ugly appetite with my food... or my son! Or do I have to tell her because you don't have the guts? Huh, boy? You have the guts, boy?”_

The fury and shame was obvious as he blurted cut her, _“Shut up! Shut up!”_

There was the loud sound of a door closing in the room up there, and Jessica stood by the window, listening with mounting concern and a stab sympathy.

She stood up and wrapped her jacket around herself quickly and made a move to escape only to see him coming down the stairs, carrying a napkin-covered tray.

“Perhaps I should leave, I can eat somewhere else. I’ve caused some trouble.”

A hollow little laugh came out, “Mother” He made an attempt at sardonic humor, “...what is the phrase... «she isn't herself today»... I think that's it.

“You shouldn't have bothered. I don't eat much anyway.” She told him honestly and he flinched, probably thinking she was offended by his mother's reference to her appetite.

“I'm sorry. I wish... people could               apologize for other people.”

His eyes reminded her of a wounded puppy so she tried to assure him it didn’t matter. “Don't worry about it. But as long as you've made us breakfast, we may as well eat it. Right Mister Ba-?”

“Please just call me Norman,” he told her as he placed the tray at the wooden table in front of her. Once again her eyes fell on the heels beside it and Norman – wide eyed and little flustered picked up the shoes and stuttered, “Th-they’re m-mother’s”

“Of course”

“Perhaps, I should open the television”

Seeing him so nervous and awkward, Jessica decided to help him. “That seems like a good idea.”

He gave her a smile before he took the remote control and turned the TV on.

He wasn’t bad looking by any means; he was probably in his mid-20s, tall, slender, and cute. He looked like more of a «boy next door» and she couldn’t help wondering why his mother was holding him in such a tight leash.

The living room was full of birds; stuffed birds, all over the room, on every available surface, one even clinging to the old fashioned fringed shade of the lamp. The birds were of many varieties, beautiful, grand, horrible, preying. She stared feeling more than a little creeped out.

After Norman finally took a sit beside her, he grabbed a piece of bread and spread jam all over it. Meanwhile she studied the birds before briefly examining a bookcase stacked with books on the subject of «Taxidermy».

Her eyes lost their focus when a piece of bread covered her view and she found Norman offering the bread he made. “It's all for you. I'm not hungry. Please go ahead”

“You’re… awfully kind,” it almost made her feel sick in her stomach but at least he wasn’t prying her business.

Jessica began eating; her body all tense but she enjoyed the silence. She took up a small slice of ham, bit off a tiny bite, and nibbled at it in the manner of one disturbed and preoccupied.

Norman gazed at her, his eyes looking intensely at the small bite she had taken and it didn't take much time for his smile to turn into a laugh. “You eat like a bird,” he pointed out

She wanted to snort, make a remark about his horrible attempt of flirting but she doubted Hannah Parker would act cold and bold at someone as sugary sweet as Norman. “You’d know of course”

Norman shook his head, taking a sheep of milk from his glass. “Not really. I hear that expression, that one eats «like a bird» is really a falsie, I mean a falsity, because birds eat a tremendous lot.” He paused, and then tried to explain himself better.

“Not that I don't know anything about birds. My hobby is stuffing things... taxidermy.” He gushed, taking one of the birds in his hands and stroking it as if it was something precious. “And I guess I'd just rather stuff birds because...  well, I hate the look of beasts when they're stuffed, foxes and chimps and all...”

 _This is stressful, for him,_ Jessica realized. There was tension running through his body–he was braced in his chair, as he strained to think of what to say to her. He stopped, started, and faltered.

Physically, he had folded into himself–leaning forward in the chair, squeezing his fingers together, tightly, working his hands “Some people even stuff dogs and cats... but I can't... I think only birds look well stuffed because they're rather...  passive, to begin with... most of them...” He trailed off, his exuberance failing in the rushing return of his natural hesitancy and discomfort.

Jessica eyed the dead bird cautiously; a part of her was curious enough to want to touch it, to feel something dead being frozen like this forever, trapped in one place. But the whole act disgusted her, it almost made her want to puke but she swallowed the cold feeling of discomfort that was chilling her bones and stated politely, "It's a strange hobby. Curious, I mean."

"Uncommon, too." He added, not taking his eyes off the bird

“I imagine so” She said dryly as she started eating a toast, perhaps if she stuffed her mouth she could stop herself from talking further.

Her attempts at chitchat don’t last long. Almost right away, he started getting more topical.

“It's not as expensive as you'd think.” _I don’t give a fuck, actually_ “Cheap, really. Needles, thread,           sawdust... the chemicals are all that cost anything.” He became quiet all of the sudden and she noticed his expression became a little disturbed

 She didn’t know where he was going with this, but she was getting a little uneasy about it. “A man _should_ have a hobby.”

 Right away, hearing that Norman leaned back, unfolded his arms, and loosened up physically, in his chair: “Well–it’s… it’s _more_ than a hobby,” he said, looking her in the eyes, “A hobby’s supposed to pass the time… not fill it.”

“Is your time so empty?”

“Oh, no!” He exclaimed awfully cheeringly with a bright smile. “I run the office, tend the cabins and grounds, do little chores for mother... the ones she allows I might be capable of doing.”

Jessica frowned at that, what kind of person was his mother? He shouldn’t allow her to control him. “Don’t you go out with friends?”

"Friends?" he repeated the word as if it was an alien, "Who needs friends?" Norman put the bird back to its place and turned towards her, "A boy best friend is his mother" he declared faithfully, and for the first time his behavior stopped being awkward, shy, and childlike. For the first time, she noticed how broken he actually seemed to be.

 _He has accepted the fact he’ll never get a hold of his life._ The realization shouldn’t have affected her but it did, it hit home. Because at that moment she hated him for succumbing, for giving up so easily, for allowing one normal person to control him to that extending.

And when he asked the reason she was staying there (it was bound to happen after all) she told him like a broken record what she told everyone else, “I just needed a small escape from the real word.”

They danced around the subject for a bit, which was awkward as he started telling her a little more about his life in the small town. Being a manager at the motel, never been anywhere because he had to take care of his mother... Speaking of whom, he told of his love and devotion to her, he expressed how lonely he felt – days like this, for example, when all there was was cold and rain - and it didn’t take her long to realize that he was yearning for a listener which was perhaps the reason he was telling her his life story. He hated being so isolated, with endless time to fill alone. He hated being ordered around by the angry, vengeful voice of his mother, but in the end, he didn’t _do_ anything about it because he didn’t think it was _possible_.

"What are you running from?"

For the first time her facade dropped and she looked at him alarmed. She stopped eating and eyed him suspicious. “Why do you ask?" She almost winced at the panic in her tone but it suddenly occurred her that Kilgrave might have _already_ found her location; maybe he wanted to give her a false security before he stroke. She could almost hear Trish’s calm voice trying to sooth her: _You’re being paranoid_

Instead of replying he began telling her, “You know what I think? I think we're all in our private traps, clamped in them, and none of us can ever climb out. We scratch and claw... but only at the air, only at each other, and for all of it, we never budge an inch.”

“Sometimes, we deliberately step into those traps.” She stated steadily, because wasn’t it true? Had she not turned towards the corner she did that night of late November, had she not chosen to beat these thugs and save Malcolm’s life, she would have never met him. New York has a sea of people and she knew Kilgrave would have never found her in the places she used to go.

It wasn’t the first time she thought of it; if she had ignored Malcolm’s cries, leading to his eventual death she would have never met that bastard, and wasn’t that a dark thought?  

“I was born in mine, but I don’t mind it.”

His voice broke her out of her thoughts, and her head snapped towards him, remembering he was still there. “You _should_ mind it.”

Something seemed to be breaking inside him, “Oh I do… but I say I don’t” he laughed boyishly

“When my mother was alive, she never spoke to me like that,” she began telling with a rare softness in her voice. “Perhaps it’s because she had always been modern and tried to be a friend to my brother and I, but…” She had always been gentle, sensitive, rarely angry. Jessica had inherited her temper from her father. “…I wouldn’t be as calm as you are about it.”

“Sometimes when she talks that way to me I'd like to... curse her out and leave her forever!” He confessed infuriatingly with a rueful smile. “Or at least, defy her.” He added hesitantly and after he made a pause, he gave her a hopeless shrug. “But I couldn't. She's ill.”

Jessica raised an eyebrow at that; she had seen sick people and his mother didn’t sound anything like that. “She sounded strong” She told him doubtedly

“I mean... ill. She had to raise me all by herself after my dad died... I was only fi-“

“Turn the on the volume” Jessica abruptly cut him off and when he stared at her in shock at the sudden change in her demeanor she grabbed the remote and turned it up herself.

Right there, on the screen a picture of Trish was shown; it was the same she used to see on busses or on leaflets; dressed in sophisticated clothes, with her hair perfectly made in order, and a bright smile as she stared at the viewer’s soul.

 _Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!_ She stared at the screen numbly as she sank back against her seat. "Trish," she whispered more softly, her heart hammering against her chest.

 

“It has been a week since news broke about the attack on former model and child TV star, Patricia Walker who is known for the infamous family show: _It’s Patsy!_ " the news reporter said. "Officers have remained silent on the investigation. No suspects have been named and there have been no updates to Patricia's condition.

 

 _He got her, he got her, he got her!_ A look of horror sprung on her face as the voice screamed inside her head over and over again, like a broken record

 

“We are told by source that no family has visited the radio talk show host’s side since she was admitted. She is listed as being in a very poor condition, but little else is known. No one has made any statement yet and we are anxiously waiting for any updated to come out.”

 

Jessica stared blankly at the small screen in silence as the news continued, Norman, noticing her shock, gently took the controller from her hands and glanced at the screen. “The world is such a sad place.”

Jessica’s head turned slowly to him, her eyes glassy, and her lips still parted in shock. “I-I need t-to go.”

Norman frowned and tilted his head, “Why, whe-”

She didn’t stay to hear him. She made her way towards the door and after she got out she headed down to her room; she wasn’t in any rush, she was frozen, her mind still in shock.

She couldn’t focus on anything in particular; not when she ripped the goddamn scarf she had been wearing, not when she threw the fucking heels across the room, not even when she started grabbing and throwing random things in her luggage.

_“We are told by source that no family has visited the radio host's side since she was admitted.”_

Once the shock started deescalating, anger took over her system which made her movements more rashly and distracting, she was past the point of go slowly and quiet and was now throwing everything she deemed worthless and unnecessary away.

_“She is listed as being in a very poor condition, but little else is known”_

She had been so stupid to think she could… what? Hide? Escape? Run away? Start over? Be normal?

Normal was setting on the dryer. It wasn’t meant for freaks like her.

She didn’t do normal. She _couldn’t_ do normal, not anymore. She would never have kids or have a boring job with its lazy routine like most other people in the world, or be seen off with a kiss to work. She would never live in a perfect house with a white picket fence and worry about taxes and car payments and driving kids to school on time with their lunches packed in their bags.

But she had made peace with it long ago. She had Trish, and that was enough for her. If she had Trish, she could be as abnormal as needed. Because if she had been normal, she would have never met her on a personal level, and wasn’t that another dark thought?

So, while she was never one to express her love, she _did_ care for Trish as much as she was capable of caring and more than anyone else in the world. So, of course, she would never replace her with a friend, or a boyfriend.

_He knows that though_

Trish was everything, and of course, _of course_ she would go back. Any other choice was dismissed, invisible in her eyes. This was one way road.

She would go back to New York, protect Trish at all costs, and even play the hero to save her if she needed saving.

And God help anyone who got in her way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I believe everyone saw this coming but I hope I wrote it well. The hardest thing was to convey Jessica's shock. You have no idea how many times I deleted and rewrote.  
> Also, one of the readers pointed out that she/he preferred the last chapter to have been longer. So what do you prefer? I certianly wrote a lot in this one but I want to know what you think.
> 
> Last but not least, did you like this chapter? Norman/Jessica, Jessica's viewes of Trish? Your opinions do matter and they certainly motivate!
> 
> I don't promise to update soon because I'm still taking exams and right now as I'm writing this it's 3:32 in the morning (my notes must be full of mistakes because I'm sleepy)

**Author's Note:**

> If you don't like dark stuff then you should stop right here where Jessica has successfully gotten away and heads towards her happily ever after.  
> Drop a review and tell me your thoughts


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